Look forth once more, Ximena! "Ah! the smoke has roll'd away;

And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of gray.

Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of Minon wheels;

There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels.

"Jesu, pity! how it thickens! now retreat and now advance!

Right against the blazing cannon shivers Puebla's charging lance!

Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot together fall:

Like a ploughshare in the fallow, through them ploughs the Northern ball."

Nearer came the storm, and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on:

Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost, and who has won?

"Alas! alas! I know not; friend and foe together fall,

O'er the dying rush the living; pray, my sisters, for them all!

"Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting: Blessed Mother, save my brain!

I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps

of slain.

Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall, and strive to rise;

Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our eyes!

"O my heart's love! O my dear one! lay thy poor head on my knee:

Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear me? canst thou see?

O my husband, brave and gentle! O my Bernal, look once more

On the blessed cross before thee! Mercy! mercy! all is o'er!"

Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one down to rest;

Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his breast;

Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses

said;

To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid.

Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay,

Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his life away;

But, as tenderly before him the lorn Ximena knelt, She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol

belt.

With a stifled cry of horror straight she turn'd away her head;

With a sad and bitter feeling look'd she back upon her dead;

But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his struggling breath of pain,

And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again.

Whispered low the dying soldier, press'd her hand and faintly smiled:

Was that pitying face his mother's? did she watch beside her child?

All his stranger words with meaning her woman's heart supplied;

With her kiss upon his forehead, "Mother!" murmured he and died!

"A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth,

From some gentle sad-eyed mother, weeping, lonely, in the North!"

Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead,

And turn'd to soothe the living, and bind the wounds which bled.

Look forth once more, Ximena! "Like a cloud before the wind

Rolls the battle down the mountain, leaving blood and death behind;

Ah! they plead in vain for mercy; in the dust the wounded strive;

Hide your faces, holy angels! O thou Christ of God, forgive!"

Sink, O night, among thy mountains! let the cool gray shadows fall;

Dying brothers, fighting demons, drop thy curtain

over all!

Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the battle roll'd,

In its sheath the sabre rested, and the cannon's lips grew cold.

But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pur

sued,

Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn and faint and lacking food;

Over weak and suffering brothers, with a tender care they hung,

And the dying foeman bless'd them in a strange and Northern tongue.

Not wholly lost, O Father! is this evil world of ours; Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh the Eden flowers;

From its smoking hell of battle, Love and Pity send their prayer,

And still thy white-wing'd angels hover dimly in our

air.

THE BAREFOOT BOY
BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace;

From my heart I give thee joy,

I was once a barefoot boy!

Prince thou art,

Only is republican.

the grown-up man

Let the million-dollared ride!

Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye, ·
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

O for boyhood's painless play, Sleep that wakes in laughing day, Health that mocks the doctor's rules, Knowledge never learned of schools, Of the wild bee's morning chase, Of the wild-flower's time and place, Flight of fowl and habitude Of the tenants of the wood; How the tortoise bears his shell,